


Fortune's Fools

by antheeia



Category: 91 Days (Anime)
Genre: (so slow it takes them a couple of LIVES), Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Death, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, because I like comparing Nero and Angelo to Romeo and Juliet, shakespeare quotes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 10:42:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11758149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antheeia/pseuds/antheeia
Summary: They were two cursed souls in the hands of a cruel fate, happiness' castaways on the shores of life.





	Fortune's Fools

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I'm back with more angst.  
> Blame the OVA.

**I. My only love sprung from my only hate.**

 

Angelo had never really thought about _that_ possibility.

He never really entertained the idea until he realized.

He never gave much thought to how Nero’s warmth was so familiar, the look in his eyes so soft, how he just felt at ease in his presence. He assumed that was just how Nero was, that everyone felt like that around him. He assumed that there was nothing significant about it. The thought that Nero could be special for him — that he could be that _Someone_ everyone had, the one you’re destined to meet — didn’t even cross his mind. How could it? Nero was someone he hated, someone he needed to kill.

But then the moment came when Angelo had to actually kill him.

The moment came when Angelo strengthened his grip around the gun, his finger on the trigger. ‘ _It’s finally time,_ ’ he thought, his eyes looking for his target among the crowd of frightened people. But before Nero could come into sight, Angelo turned away and walked towards the exit. His grip was loosening and his shoulder — where Barbero stabbed him — suddenly started hurting horribly, and he was desperate and confused. The thought of killing Nero had been the only thing he clung to until that moment, and yet he was getting cold feet now. He was scared to pull the trigger, he was scared of what it meant, he was scared of not seeing those eyes smiling at him ever again. And he run, from that situation and from the meaning of his fear.

The moment came when Angelo was walking alone, away from the playhouse, from the massacre he was the cause of. He walked and he thought that maybe someone would find Nero and kill him, but he wouldn’t be that someone, because he couldn’t; and at the same time he hoped, he hoped with all the strength he had left, that no one would kill Nero, because he couldn’t, but no one but him had the right to take that life.

The moment came when Angelo hoped that Nero would survive.

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

After that night, Angelo felt hollow: there was no more revenge, no reason to go on with his life, no one to care about, just dull emptiness while he quietly waited to die; but when they told him Nero was still alive, it was like his heart started beating again, like there was suddenly a point for him to keep breathing, at least for a while. He didn't know what the point was, but he clearly felt like he could live, just a little bit more.

‘ _He’ll find me,_ ’ he thought.

And Nero did.

 

When Angelo saw him again, he knew what he wanted, he knew that his life should have ended seven years before, and he knew Nero was the only one who could finish the job his family started. There was no point in him staying alive after everything was over, because he didn’t desire to live and he hadn’t since his family died; but Nero, he was a different person. Nero didn’t wish to die, and between them he was the one who deserved to live the most. But above all, some part of him just knew that dying by those welcoming hands would feel right, more than anything else in his life. 

He was happy he got the chance of having him close in those last hours, to be alone with him just a little bit more. In the car, the feeble flow of Nero’s breathing was the only sound that accompanied the humming of the engine, and Angelo cherished it in his ravaged heart like he did with the songs his mother sang for him when she was alive. If he focused enough he could still pretend those months never passed, he could pretend he still had choices to make, an objective to reach, months ahead of him to taste the blandness of a new spring. He could pretend that he still was somewhat human and worthy of forgiveness. He knew Nero was angry at him at the beginning, but while hours and landscapes passed in silence the tension of that rage turned into sadness.

Angelo just wanted it all to end, right after he got to see the ocean: he didn’t know why, but he felt drawn by it, and the curiosity to understand that attraction was the only instinct he could follow in that moment when the only familiar thing he had left in this world were the arms of man he should have killed and that he somehow never found the strength to; the arms of a man he hated with overwhelming passion and yet he treasured with biting intensity.

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

When, in front of that campfire, among the screams, the tears and two broken hearts, their lips touched in a spiral of despair that started to look more and more like resignation, that was when Angelo realised: he didn't remember something in particular, but when he tasted Nero’s lips he knew he had kissed those lips before, in his past, in another life.

And when Nero pulled back, his sad, big eyes must have met a shocked face — an expression he had never witnessed before on Angelo’s face — that faithfully portrayed the thoughts going on in his mind. So Nero was the one? His soulmate was the one who helped killing his family? Angelo thought he didn’t believe in that stuff. He thought it was useless sentimentalism. He thought there was no way one was destined to meet the same person in every life, and no matter the different circumstances, still love them. And yet could he deny the evidence? Could he deny how he inexplicably cared so much for Nero, how he felt his sadness and happiness as it was his own, how he felt more accomplished protecting him than taking revenge for his own family? Could he deny his heart beating fast, the sweet taste still lingering on his lips, the sadness eating him up when he realised how fucked up all of that was? He felt the need to laugh and cry and scream until he went mad so he didn’t have to deal with any of that.

But he didn't.

“Nero…” he whispered, the sweetness of the kiss fading away, as already he craved for more. But there wasn’t time, it wasn’t right, and he knew no amount of love could ever redeem neither of them. They were two cursed souls in the hands of a cruel fate, happiness’ castaways on the shores of life.

He felt the other man’s gaze lingering on his face and a blow of wind brought to his nose Nero’s scent, mixed with the dry odor of burned wood and the fresh one of resin. He looked up at Nero, and he wondered if he knew tool, if he remembered him. He wondered how both of them had looked like in their past life, if they were happy, if their life was easy, if they were friends, lovers, or both, if this was the first time everything ended up so awfully between them or if they were just starcrossed. But he didn’t really want to know the answers to those questions, because whatever they were, they would have hurt.

“I want you to finish what started seven years ago. Close the circle.” he said, his words heavy with a meaning bigger than them and his eyes dark with gloomy determination. Nero just stared back for a while, but Angelo knew the Vanetti was the one seeking revenge for his family now, and he was sure he wouldn’t refuse.

Nero stood up, facing the other way, his lips contracted in a grimace that made him look like he was in pain. He walked away, while Angelo still felt the ghost of his hand grabbing his clothes and the echoes of his enraged shouts playing in his ears.

“Seeing the ocean, that's my last wish..” whispered Angelo at Nero’s back. The Vanetti freezed in his tracks and, after a long moment, he just nodded. He didn’t promise, but that was more than enough for Angelo.

“What happened earlier,” started Nero, after sitting down by the other side of the campfire, “it didn’t mean anything. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

 

 

 

**II. Violent ends**

 

“You don’t need a reason to live. You just live.”

The ocean appeared wild and unforgiving. But to Angelo, it felt like an old friend, it smelled of sweet memories, of peace and light kisses; the waves crashing on the shore sounded relaxing like a song one could slow dance to, the sand was soft and welcoming, even if wet and slightly cold, and the sharp wind whispered a goodbye in his ear.

For a moment he wished he could remember just a little bit more, that he could understand those remote feelings of joy the ocean reminded him of: if only he could, then maybe he would believe in what Nero said, he could try to _just live_ without being eaten from inside by his own emptiness. But he didn’t remember, and so he couldn’t understand.

So he said his goodbyes.

“The reason I didn’t kill you was because I didn’t want to.”

Angelo closed his eyes while he walked away from Nero, breathing in the smell of the ocean, and he was glad that got to be the last scent he experienced. He hoped Nero understood, and his guts said he did.

He asked himself if dying would hurt. He asked himself if maybe his next life would be peaceful and happy, if maybe this life had been his punishment for something. He asked himself if, in the next life, he really would have been still _the same person_ , even though he wouldn’t remember much about all the lives that came before. What was the thing that made him who he was, if not his memories? Where was his identity, what stood at his core? What was _his soul_? Which part of him is would get to live on, and which part would be lost forever? The thought that his existence would continue was comforting somehow, but at the same time he couldn't push away the feeling of dread, the fear of the end, the awareness that his life as it was would finish in that moment and never exist, ever again. The person he was would disappear, and he hoped the better parts of him would get to survive. And in that moment, the only good thing he could find about himself was whatever stopped him from killing Nero: that single act redeemed him in some way, and in light of that he felt like maybe his life wasn’t completely worthless. Maybe he had learnt something.

Nero pulled the trigger, and the loud sound drowned the roaring of the waves crashing on the shore. The bullet never hit Angelo, but still he stood and waited, unmoving, because it had to end, because Nero promised, because he knew he couldn't bear to live one moment longer; until he heard the sound of something falling to the ground, sinking in the sand. Then he turned, and Nero stood there, looking away, the gun in the sand at his feets.

“Go away. Save yourself. They won't come after you, I’ll make sure of it,” he murmured.

Angelo walked towards him, took the gun from the ground and pushed it back into Nero's warm hands. When he got closer to him, the smell of seawater mixed with the familiar scent of that man he hated and loved, desperately, and it was difficult to tell if that knot in his stomach was because of one or the other.

“If you don't, I’ll do it myself.”

He knew that if Nero had feelings for him too, then pulling that trigger would be the hardest thing he ever did in his life, but that decision was, for Angelo, taking fate in his own hands, it was him deciding he didn't want that life, it was him taking another revenge, a revenge against something bigger than himself, bigger than a Mafia family; and Nero needed to be part of it. That needed to be their vengeance, a rebellion binding their souls together even more. If fate just wanted to play with them, if their destiny was to live with the burden of the love and happiness they had taken from each other, to love and hate each other intensely and desperately, if their choice was either to live — unable to be with each other but incapable to be apart — or die together — killing each other or themselves — if those were the only choices, then they wouldn’t choose either: they would defy fate, spit in the face of a cruel destiny, and one day — Angelo was sure — they would prevail.

Nero’s hands closed around the younger man's pale ones, and that touch was so comforting that it caused him to relax — and only then Angelo realised how tense he had been.

Nero’s eyes were big and sad and Angelo wished he had the strength to look away, but he seemed to be asking to much to his strong will.

“You need to be the one. I won't accept anyone else.” he said and he silently prayed for Nero to get it, to get _him_ , to grant him that favour, even if he didn’t deserve it.

Nero averted his gaze.

“I lied to you. That kiss, it wasn't meaningless like I said.”

‘ _I know_ ’, Angelo thought. But the truth was that, up to that moment, he had doubted it — he wanted to doubt it. He hoped Nero didn’t feel anything but hate and disappointment, because everything would have been easier for him, were that the case.

But of course it had to be hard, for both of them.

“Nero, I’m not like you, I _need_ a reason to live.”

He was not brave enough to live without; but Nero was.

Angelo knew it, that Nero was strong enough to just live, and also strong enough to find one, ten, five hundreds reasons to go on and on if he felt like it was his duty to do so. And Angelo hoped he was also gentle enough to forgive him for acting like an egoist — but that's what he was, after all.

‘ _This is the last thing I ask of you, Nero, I promise, then you’ll never see me again, not in this life and if you’re lucky not even in the next one._ ’

“Would you find one for me? Would you live until you find a reason to?”

It was a strange request. A complicated one, too.

But Nero looked Angelo straight in the eyes, strengthened his grip around the gun and with a renewed determination, he nodded: “I will.”

 

 

 

 

> _“Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;_  
>  _Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;_  
>  _Being vexed, a sea nourished with loving tears._  
>  _What is it else? A madness most discreet,_  
>  _A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.”_  
>  **— W. Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet**

**Author's Note:**

> As you noticed I decided to use Shakespeare quotes. A lot of them. What can I say, these two make me sentimental way more than I'd like to admit.
> 
> I have the whole fic planned and half written. I think there will be another 3 chapters, 4 tops, and I should be relatively fast to upload (let's hope!)


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